


Half a Person

by Wispie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Drama, Drug Addiction, Drugs, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Smoking, clinging to sobriety, mentions of OD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wispie/pseuds/Wispie
Summary: It’s difficult watching the person you care about most in the world barreling towards rock bottom, and it’s even more difficult when you only find out after.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/Reader
Kudos: 18





	Half a Person

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from my Tumblr, gloriainalbis.   
> Link: https://gloriainalbis.tumblr.com/post/627060286469324800/half-a-person

For what felt like the hundredth time, you were waiting outside a formidably bland concrete building, leaning against your car and staring up at a sign that read ‘Something-Something Clinic’ or ‘The-Such-And-Such Center.’ Today it was Lakeshore Hills Rehabilitation. You’d gotten the all too familiar call only a week ago, and it was the first time you’d heard anything from Klaus in almost a month. Seeing Lakeshore’s name pop up, you’d answered immediately. You had the main number for close to every rehab center in the city saved in your phone for precisely this eventuality. 

\--

_ “Klaus?!” you answered expectantly.  _

_ “y/n! Oh, how I’ve missed your voice!”  _

_ You ignored him and got right to the point. “Where have you been?”  _

_ “Oh, here and there. Rehab, mostly.”  _

_ Well, that explained his absence, but not the lack of calls.  _

_ “Why haven’t I heard from you? I was worried.” You still were, honestly, but decided to leave that part out. _

_ “Oh, you know, reasons.” It was painfully apparent that he was leaving something out. “Anyways! Got any plans for next Friday?” _

_ “Do you need someone to pick you up?” _

_ “Excellent deduction skills, y/n.”  _

_ “Thank you. What time?”  _

_ “Noon, Lakeshore Hills. Be there or be square!”  _

_ You grinned, grateful that he couldn’t see you smiling at his joke. “Okay, Klaus.”  _

_ “Great, thank you. Goodbye!” _

_ “Wait!-” the line clicked and went dead, leaving you with some answers and even more questions. _

\-- 

You still hadn’t heard from Klaus in the past week, but you tried not to hold that against him. Someone from the rehab center had called you a few days ago to confirm that you were Klaus’s designated pick-up, which was one of many hints that something wasn’t right. You were often there to pick him up, but it was seldom that it was required. 

The front doors burst open. 

“y/n!” Klaus was beaming as he jumped over the front steps. 

“Hey, Klaus.” You had planned on scolding him and asking questions but forgot as soon as you saw him. 

“It’s so good to see you!” He pulled you into a giant hug, and the feathery trim of his coat tickled your cheek. 

“Mr. Hargreeves!” you heard from the door, “Mr. Hargeeves, wait! We still need you and your escort to sign discharge papers.” 

He pulled away and cocked an eyebrow at you, “Oooh,  _ escort _ …” he purred. 

“How scandalous,” you joked before turning to the nurse. “Forgive him.”

You walked with Klaus back to the building, signed the papers, and then left, for real this time. When you finally got back to the car, he seemed to sink into the passenger’s seat, slumping into it and propping his feet up on the dashboard in front of him, plastic hospital bracelet dangling from his wrist. You tried to keep your eyes on the road, but couldn’t help sneaking a glance at him. The lines of exhaustion were written clearly all over his face. 

“So,” you started. “You look… unwell.” 

“I have my reasons.” He shot you a nonchalant grin that didn’t seem to fit the mood, but oh well. You turned off the main road and were only a few streets away from Klaus’s apartment when he stopped you. 

“Ooooh, wait, I have a huge favor to ask of you.” He sat up a little straighter. 

“Okay? Shoot.” 

“Well, I got evicted, so-”

“You  _ what _ ?!” Well, that was quite the bombshell. 

“I was kicked out! My lease is no more, it’s passed on, gone to meet its maker, it’s an ex-lease, whatever.” He gestured dramatically into thin air. 

You persisted, “When did this happen?”

“While I was in rehab,” he admitted quietly. He still seemed to be hiding something, though, which worried you. 

“Is that even legal? Can they do that?” 

“Uuuuhhhh....” he tried to stall, but you shot him an incredibly motivating glare. “Alright, fine. I may or may not have neglected to pay my rent, and upon further inquiry was found severely passed out.”

_ Excuse you? _ What was that supposed to mean? If you weren’t worried before (which you had been), you were now. 

“What? Did you-”

“On the upside, it was the closest I’ve been to actually seeing Ben in years!” He brushed you off with an even more cryptic admission. 

“Oh my god, Klaus, what do you mean?” You could feel your heart sinking lower and lower in your chest as he continued to ignore your questions. 

“That I definitely need a place to stay.” You had already turned around and started driving back to your place. 

“No, I meant-“

“Do you mind, (Y/N), if I used your couch for a while, pretty pleaaaase?” That exhaustion from earlier was peeking through his resolve, and you could see how much he just needed to sleep, to rest. Maybe he would talk about it later. 

“Fine,” you acquiesced, hoping this wouldn’t bite you in the ass later. 

“Yay! Thank you, y/n!” He clapped his hands triumphantly and blew joyful kisses at you until you finally smiled. 

The rest of the car ride involved minimal chatter as you tried to process what he had told you. It was incredibly serious. From what you could tell, going over his words again and again in your head, ‘severely passed out,’ ‘closest to actually seeing Ben in  _ years _ ,’ he had OD’d, and not in his typical wake-up-in-the-ambulance fashion. You knew that he could see and talk to Ben, at least when he was mostly sober, so being closer to him than he had been in years meant something different. How were you only hearing about this now? Since he had just gotten out of rehab, this had to have been at the very least a  _ month _ ago. Klaus could have realistically, actually died. Your mind raced with possibilities and questions, but most of all, you just wanted to make sure he would be okay. He had to be. You made an odd pair, you being a somewhat put together, mostly functioning adult, and him being a clingy junkie whose life was perpetually in shambles. Still, you couldn’t imagine your world without him in it. He was your best friend, the person you cared about more than your self-preservation instincts wanted to allow. You saw so much more in him than he could ever imagine. Without him… you didn’t even want to entertain the notion. You were all about being prepared, but this was too real. You couldn’t think those thoughts and imagine that you could very well go through them all again in not too long, for real. 

You got back to your apartment finally, telling Klaus you’d make space on the couch for him before going off to find pillows and blankets. He started walking backward hastily in the direction of your bathroom. 

“I gotta go- in the other room- to the bathroom- for a sec…” 

“Okay, Klaus…” It was strange, but Klaus himself was strange, and it wasn’t the weirdest thing you’d heard from him today. 

Klaus made sure he saw you leave the room before walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. As an addict and junkie, he’d hidden stashes  _ everywhere _ . Honestly, the Hargreeves mansion would probably be worth considerably more if all the drugs hidden there were taken into account, and those stashing instincts extended to your apartment as well. Klaus stared intently at the tile walls of your bathroom, looking for the one that was slightly out of place. He found it above the toilet, a few tiles down from the ceiling. 

You returned to the living room, placing down your gathered things before sitting beside them, melting into the couch, exhausted, as Klaus had done in your car. With him momentarily gone, you had some space to think- and break down. You let out a quiet sob. And then another. You had been so close to losing Klaus and knew that it would, in all likelihood, only happen again. And again. And again. You needed to be there for him and make him see how much he meant to you, but he was once more approaching rock bottom, and you didn’t know if you could take it this time. A painful tension built in your chest as you tried to keep some semblance of composure, but sobs kept bubbling up and the hurt kept ripping through you. So, head in hands, you curled up, pulling yourself closer and closer inward. 

Klaus was standing on your toilet, carefully and quietly removing a loose wall tile. 

“Bingooo!” he whispered with levity. 

_ “This is a bad idea,” _ Ben spoke, suddenly appearing in your bathroom.

“Oh, Ben, lovely to see you. Bye now!”

Ben glared indignantly as Klaus wiggled his fingers and un-summoned him.

_ “Wha- Klaus!”  _

“Toodles!” And with that, Ben disappeared. 

He was replacing the tile, pill bottle in hand, when he heard a sound coming from the living room. He froze, listening. He had learned many things during the decade and a half he spent under the instruction of Reginald Hargreeves, one being the importance of gathering intel. When faced with an unfamiliar environment or sound, listen, stay still, and wait. Figure out what it is before proceeding. But, being perfectly honest, Klaus wasn’t thinking about his childhood superhero training at that moment, he was far more concerned with being caught. Nevertheless, the sound became clearer as he focused on it, and he could eventually make out sniffling and- crying? Shoving the pills into his coat pocket, he leaned down and steadied himself on the counter before slowly stepping off the toilet, being careful to ensure that the rubber soles of his shoes didn’t squeak. He unlocked the bathroom as quietly as possible and crept into the doorway to see what was wrong. Something in his heart broke. The crying slowed to fitful sniffles, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the tears still shining in your red eyes and on your cheeks. The pill bottle felt unrealistically heavy in his pocket as his stomach dropped right down to his feet, leaving only sickening embarrassment and shame. He felt like a complete and utter piece of shit. He tried to let it pass, but it just kept washing over him in waves. It was difficult, but even more so was trying to keep that fear and guilt from showing in his voice as he spoke up.

“y/n?” 

Surprised and a little startled by his sudden appearance, you turned around and made attempts to wipe your eyes dry, but it was too late. And you both knew it. You tried not to look at him as he crossed the room and sat beside you, very contained and un-Klaus-like. By contrast, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you and couldn’t stop feeling like shit. Then you turned to him, perking up and putting on a thinly veiled smile, the tone of your voice too cheery to be sincere. 

“Hey, Klaus, what’s up?” The furious drying had only worsened the redness of your eyes as you continued to look like a vision of sorrow. 

“Well, I saw you crying. So that’s something.” You should’ve known that he understood you too well to be fooled that easily. And he was right. Your smile broke, eyebrows furrowing into a painful look of grief. 

“Are you alright?” he knew his words were hollow. It was more than obvious that you weren’t alright, but he didn’t want to point out or confirm why. You slumped back into the couch, looking defeated. This was difficult to say. 

“It’s… hard. To see you so determined to destroy yourself.” You stopped there, wanting to be strong, unwaveringly stable, worried that Klaus would lose all motivation if your faith in him wasn’t absolute. But feelings and emotions aren’t that simple. Klaus relied strongly on you to ground him, to provide a baseline and a home, but he was well aware of his failure to maintain any and all relationships and didn’t expect much beyond that. And besides, he was used to letting people down and had been able to see your weariness with him grow considerably over the past few months. And you- you were tired. The fuel of your optimism and hope had gone completely dry, and you were running on empty. You wanted to believe he could and would stay sober but you just didn’t anymore. There was the occasional good day or two, but they never lasted. He didn’t know what to do, what he could say, to make it better. So he went with the next best thing, sincerity. He reached out for your hand, both to steady himself and to let you know how much he meant what he was about to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered through a broken voice. It was small and nearly silent, but you appreciated it far more than any speech or string of excuses. It was real and genuine. Letting go of your hand, he reached an arm out to bring you close, and you understood. He nestled his head into the crook of your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You spoke no words. You didn’t need to. Sincerity was a lot more difficult for Klaus than his usual flippancy and nonchalance, and you were both too drained to continue talking anyway. You just held onto each other. 

That night, you went to your room while Klaus tried to settle into the couch. He lay there, unable to fall asleep. Time ticked on, and he could do nothing but stay awake. He was on his back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other behind the pillow under his head. He was lucky that your apartment wasn’t as haunted as it could be. But time is long, and the dead are plenty, so Klaus was never without his demons. They whispered in the back of his mind, very quietly, barely there. But it was hard not to hear them, and it was worse when he closed his eyes. The long-gone and less unsettled spirits that he had a harder time conjuring visually had almost no trouble simply projecting their likenesses into his mind. They called for him, reaching out through him, into him, all around him. He could almost feel their clammy hands plastered all over his skin, suffocating him, dragging him back down with them. Breathless, utterly exhausted, and entirely unable to sleep, Klaus sat up and walked to your room. He didn’t quite know what he was doing and, feeling odd just standing in the doorway, crept closer to you and whispered your name. 

“Klaus?” You were groggy and confused but awake. 

“Wakey wakey,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light. 

“What is it? Is something wrong?” He didn’t look great, his mussed up hair flying off in countless directions. Dark circles loomed under his wide, fearful eyes. 

“I was wondering if I could… uh… maybe stay with you?” 

“Of course,” you patted the space next to you, and he climbed into bed gratefully. At first, you were just lying next to each other, but as he got more comfortable and you settled down again, his hand naturally found yours. Once you were holding hands, it only made sense to scooch closer to each other. You were both tired and needed comforting. Consequences be damned. Before long, he was on his side, arms wrapped around you while you lay against him, nestled into his chest. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, and you smiled lazily, knowing that he was doing the same. You couldn’t help but love the feeling of his skin against yours, his body beside you, solid and warm and wholesome. 

He was still there, still entangled, when you awoke the next morning. You let yourself enjoy his peaceful expression for a few moments. Time didn’t seem to pass as you lay there with him. As far as you were concerned, you had always been here, sleepy and happy in the soft morning light, and always would be. Eventually, you couldn’t help yourself, and you reached up a hand to touch his cheek. His eyes opened, greeting you with tender green, and he smiled. 

“What a beautiful way to wake up.” You refrained from giggling but definitely felt like it. 

“Hello to you, too.” You dropped your hand from his face, letting it fall into the small space between you. 

“How about we do all this again in, hmmm, ten minutes.” He pulled you closer. 

“You didn’t get any sleep at all on the couch, did you?” You wondered with some concern

He closed his eyes, “Nope.” 

“I’ll make us breakfast,” you decided, trying to sit up but finding his arms inextricably wrapped around your waist. 

“Hmmph,” he groaned in protest.

“I’ll make coffee, too,” you reasoned, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead, which seemed to placate him. His grip slackened, and you untangled yourself. You got up, put on some more appropriate clothes than your grungy pajamas, and took one last look at him before leaving the room. Klaus appeared to belong there, in your bed, curled up under your comforter and looking more serene than you could ever recall having seen him before. 

Breakfast smelled delicious, but what actually got Klaus to leave the perfect comfort of your bed was the wafting scent of coffee. Uppers had always been his drug of choice, so anything energizing was always a must when attempting sobriety. He wandered into the kitchen, still in the shorts and small tee he’d slept in. 

“Good morning, Klaus.”

“Good morning, coffee,” he joked, pretending to ignore you while pouring himself a cup. You raised your spatula in warning, and he chuckled nervously. 

“Haha, just kidding, good morning to you, too.” He set down the coffee slowly, and you returned to the breakfast still in progress. 

“Did you finally get to sleep?” 

Klaus wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind, “Yes, thank you.” He placed a kiss on your cheek before grabbing his coffee and sitting down at your small table. It was the largest one you could find to fit in your tiny apartment, and yet still only seated two. You joined him a few minutes later with two plates of food. You ate in silence. The morning had gone well so far, blissfully, even, but your short conversation and crying session from yesterday still loomed large. You just wanted to forget about it and move on. But Klaus, in that moment, was acutely aware of the pills still tucked into his coat pocket across the room. 

“Listen, about my breakdown yesterday-” you began. 

Klaus perked up at the mention of it, “Oh, yes, we really should talk about that.”

“What? No-” now it was your turn to chuckle nervously, “just forget about it, really.” 

“We both know that’s not how this works.” He looked at you pleadingly, and it didn’t take much for you to give in. If Klaus wanted to talk seriously, then you wanted to let him. 

“Fine,” your voice became softer. “I understand if you don’t want to share details, but from what I can piece together, something dangerously serious happened a month ago, and you didn’t tell me until yesterday.” 

He set down his empty coffee cup. “Not my finest moment.” You could tell that he was still avoiding talking about it directly. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Klaus, I  _ can’t _ lose you, can’t you see that?” He nodded solemnly. “And to think that it could just happen, that I could just wake up one morning and you’d be-” you couldn’t say it, but you knew he understood. “That’s  _ terrifying _ .” 

“I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know how to make you stay after I told you,” he admitted. It hurt knowing you had to tell him how exhausted you were. 

“I really do want to…” You didn’t even have to say it, the ‘but’ hung in the air between you, bounding back and forth like a toxic little ping pong ball of doubt. 

“You know, the very first time I went to rehab,  _ all  _ of my siblings were there to pick me up. Even Ben, spectrally. It didn’t take long for me to relapse, and it didn’t take much longer for them to stop coming. You’re the only one who’s still here.” 

“It's so hard, Klaus, and I’m so tired.” You were trying not to cry at this point. 

“I know.” You could hear his voice break. Was this conversation hurting him as much as it hurt you? 

“I care so much, and I don’t know how to make you see that, or protect your, or- or do anything at all. I don’t know what to do!” You felt like crap for lashing out, for blaming him when he seemed almost as powerless as you. 

“No one’s perfect, y/n.” His eyes began to water, too, threatening to turn into tears. “I know it’s not easy, and I’m  _ so _ sorry.” It was incredibly painful for him to imagine you leaving. He wanted to stand up and scream, to yell, do something, anything, to make you understand that you were all he needed, but he didn’t have the words for it. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

You were still trying to process what he had said about his siblings. You knew all of them and their contentious relationships pretty well, so it didn’t surprise you that they seldom turned up in his hour of need, but it hadn’t yet occurred to you that they  _ should _ . When you realized how much it would mean to him if even one of them was there just to pick him up, you realized how little he expected the people around him to do, and how significant your presence alone must have been. You had wanted to be strong  _ for  _ him, to be as good as possible, and as supportive as possible, whatever he needed. But all he needed was you. You smiled at him gently as you realized this. 

“If all you need is for me to be there, then I will  _ always  _ be there.” 

Relief flooded him, and in a heated moment, he lunged forward and pulled you into a kiss. It took you by surprise, your heart practically bursting out of your chest, but you quickly melted into him. Klaus had cursed himself for his impulsiveness at first, but all that drifted away when you kissed back. The feeling of your lips on his, the way you seemed to meld into him, readily greeting his fervor ardently and earnestly. Your hands found their way to his chest as he cupped your face. It was intoxicating, and you were both out of breath when you finally pulled away, still so close that you might as well be touching. 

“Thank you,” he breathed. You could tell that he meant it for your comfort and support, as well as the kiss. You laughed, breathlessly, as the pressure and tension left you, leaning down to rest your head on his chest. He joined you, grinning and giggling in relief and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. Kisses between you and Klaus weren’t typical, but they had happened before. It was something you didn’t speak about, but that added a whole other layer of complexity to your relationship. You cared about Klaus, more profoundly than you’d ever cared about another person. You shared something. Whether that practically soul-binding connection was platonic or romantic had yet to be fully decided. But you knew two things, and they kept you going. You loved him, and he cared deeply for you. What you lacked the emotional intelligence to realize, of course, was that while close friends could indeed enjoy the occasional platonic kiss, emotionally charged near-makeout sessions typically signified, you know, romantic feelings. 

“I’m going to go have a smoke, wanna join me?” He asked once you had both settled down. 

“Sure.” You couldn’t say that you supported his smoking habit, but you far preferred it to drugs or drinking, so you had no objections. You cleared the dishes as Klaus gathered his things. 

Putting on his coat, he stuck his hand into his pocket and remembered the pills he retrieved yesterday. 

Ben noticed.  _ “In the spirit of being honest, you know, now would be a great time to tell her about the pills you still have.” _

He didn’t want to lose your trust (or, secondarily, his sobriety), but also couldn’t quite bring himself to get rid of them. He knew this was a dangerous game, but recovery is supposed to be a process, right? Right? 

“Recovery is not short and sweet. It is a lifelong process,” Klaus quoted. “That’s what the poster says, at least.” 

_ “It would probably be easier if you didn’t keep pills in your pocket.” _

“Shut up, Ben!” He hissed, trying not to catch your attention. 

You followed him outside, sitting next to him on the stairs out front of your apartment as he pulled out a lighter and cigarette. He sighed after taking the first drag, grateful for the rush of nicotine. Wonderful nicotine. It would have to take the place of other inebriants for the time being, so he tried to savor it. 

“Feel good?” you asked, mocking him slightly. 

“Oooooh yeah,” he smiled, putting an arm around your shoulder. You leaned into it instinctively, letting your head rest against his shoulder. You enjoyed Klaus’s little moments. He may have a tendency to hurt you and push away the people around him, but he did care. He cared deeply, and you loved when he showed it. Then he decided to break the silence. 

“Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?” He sounded serious, genuinely concerned as to whether or not you had heard the sordid tale. 

“No, EW!” 

“It was  _ painful _ ,” he continued, taking another drag from his cigarette. 

“Klaus, what?!” He chuckled quietly to himself at your exasperation. 

The pill bottle remained in his left coat pocket for the next week. Life with you was practically blissful, he wished it would last forever- and wondered why he hadn’t yet had the guts to make whatever you had official. It turns out leaving things abstract and unlabeled is a lot more complicated in practice. But it was Klaus’s feelings towards relationships that were complicated, not his feelings towards you. Committed relationships were honestly terrifying to him, unsurprising for someone who grew up steeped in what could essentially be called a non-committal home life where traditional familial relationships were simultaneously enforced, through the very conventional loving-wife-and-mother Mombot and disallowing of inter-sibling romantic pursuits, like with Allison and Luther, but also condemned through a dehumanizing number system to replace names, traumatic isolation during training, and the calculated creation of a team dynamic to replace the fractured sibling bonds. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. But you- he knew how he felt about you. He loved you and had very recently come to the realization that he had for years. But even that was yet another reason to not commit. He felt incredibly guilty as it was, factoring in an actual relationship where you would feel obligated to stay with him was a whole new order of magnitude. But he was even more worried that if your relationship became more concrete, his inability to handle commitment would jeopardize everything. 

You endeavored to clean up one morning. The blanket and pillow from Klaus’s first night here remained on the couch, though he had only used them once. It was while moving his coat out of the way that you heard an all too familiar rattle. You froze and hoped against all hope that it wasn’t what you thought it was. You stood up slowly, trying to put off the inevitable, before reaching your hand into the pocket and pulling out a bottle of immediately recognizable small, colorful pills. You felt angry, wretched, and wracked your brain to try and retroactively see the warning signs. A small yet venomous voice blamed you for not noticing sooner, for becoming complacent. You tried not to listen. It was difficult. 

The front door opened while you were still standing there. It was Klaus, back from a quick trip to the nearest convenience store for a pack of cigarettes, which he had been smoking more and more of lately in an attempt to quell the urges of addiction. 

“Darling, I’m hoooome!” he purred, closing the door. “I got-” he saw you holding his coat and the bottle of pills and stopped dead in his tracks, one hand still on the doorknob. He glanced up at your face for one horrible moment before turning away and biting his lip, waiting for you to say something. 

“You left your coat,” you pointed out as explanation. 

“Oh. I see.” You knew Klaus so well, but it was impossible to guess what he was thinking when the entire past week of what you had believed to be sincerity was called into question. 

“How could you?” You whispered, wanting an explanation but feeling woefully unprepared to hear it. You were hurt, horribly. Your chest burned with pain, your mind raced with barely comprehensible thoughts, mostly vague emotions, sinking feelings, and hurt. A lot of hurt. He looked pained and defeated, stepping forward tentatively and holding his hands out.

“Please, y/n, I can explain.”

“Klaus…” you whimpered, tearing up despite your best efforts. 

“Just listen to me, please, just listen!”

“Don’t.” you pleaded. It was agonizing to watch him try and reason again and again. You’d heard everything a thousand times before. 

“Please! Please, I’m sober, I swear!” you looked at him incredulously and his tone softened. “I’m telling you the truth.” You told yourself that you wanted to believe him, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to. You sighed and glanced away. “Y/n, I’m sober! I’m not lying to you, please!” 

“I don’t know how to believe you,” you admitted. It was difficult to say,  _ so _ difficult. But it was the truth. Klaus was quiet, not offended, really, just disappointed- in himself. What was he supposed to expect? Only a week out of rehab and already caught keeping a bottle of pills in his pocket, even if he hadn’t used them. He wanted to make you understand, but he didn’t have the words to tell the truth without making it sound like he was lying. 

_ “You reeeaaally should have thrown those out,” _ Ben chimed. 

“Please trust me, (y/n), there’s a perfectly semi-reasonable explanation.” You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, they’ve been in my pocket for a week, but-”

“A week?! You’ve only been out of rehab for a week!” It didn’t stop hurting. The thing that felt like a hole in your chest just kept growing and growing as you watched him struggle over your words and wince at your reactions. 

“Oh, no. No no no, it’s not what you think.” He was bewildered. 

“This whole time? You’ve had these this whole time?!” You couldn’t stop yourself as your thoughts spiraled. He grimaced and squirmed a little, not wanting to answer. 

“Well…” 

“Really, Klaus?! Really?” How much of this past week had been a lie, you wondered, how much of it had been sincere? Was he more comfortable with you because you were making progress, or was he just high? Your head spun and it hurt to think about. He couldn’t do anything but watch, horrified as you dropped the coat, grabbed your phone, and strode out of the apartment, still holding the pills. He couldn’t summon up the right words or actions to make you stop and listen. It felt like his mind was disassembling, falling apart. As soon as you closed the door, he broke down, holding the sides of his head and screaming. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity FUCK!” You could hear him through the door, and it tore at you. “Damn it, NO! No no no nononono! FUCK!” 

You wanted to think that this was warranted, that it made sense to be angry, but you couldn’t shake the immense guilt, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You tore yourself away and started walking. You decided to call Diego, whom you knew was also pretty used to Klaus’s antics. 

“C’mon, Diego. Please pick up…” 

He did. 

“Y/n! Hey, what’s up?” You hadn’t spoken to Diego in a while. He sounded good. 

“It’s-” you hesitated, finding it hard to say and unaware of how much he knew. Most likely, nothing. “It’s about Klaus.” 

“Oh.” It was a loaded explanation. Diego sighed. “What is it this time?” 

“Where do I even begin?” You asked, realizing you probably should have thought this through more. 

“At the beginning,” he responded. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself and figure out what to say. “So, twelve years ago, you met Klaus-”

You surprised yourself by laughing. 

“Okay, not that beginning,” he conceded. It was calming to hear from someone who wasn’t actively freaking out. 

“It was two weeks ago. I got a call from Lakeshore. It was Klaus, in rehab again and getting out in a week.”

“Surprise, surprise,” he interjected sarcastically. 

“No, just- listen.” You tried to impress on Diego the gravity of what you were telling him, what was so different about  _ this _ time. “So I went to pick him up last week, and on the drive back to his place he tells me that he got evicted and needed somewhere to stay.”

“Also not really a surprise-”

“Diego!” You insisted. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll shut up.” 

You continued, “The way he explained it, he was a few months behind on rent and when his landlord came to collect, they found him quote-unquote ‘severely passed out’.” Diego was silent, which you were grateful for. “So he OD’d a month ago and I only found out about it last week.

“I’m sorry, (y/n), but you know him.” He probably believed you were just venting, but this was so much more than that. 

“He said it was the closest he’s been to seeing Ben in years.” 

“Woah.” He finally understood.

“I’m so tired, Diego. So tired.” You were near defeat.

“I know. You’re the only one left still putting up with his shit.” You chose to ignore that. 

“So we talked, and he apologized. It seemed sincere. We talked again the next day, and then it was honestly kind of wonderful. He was back to his old self. He has been all week.” The line went quiet for a few moments. 

“What happened?” There was no judgment in Diego’s tone. Just sympathy.

You stopped walking, and, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, your voice began to crack. “I found a bottle of pills in his pocket today,” you could hear Diego sigh on the other end, “and he’s apparently had them this entire week.” 

“Oh my god, that little SHIT!” You heard the telltale  _ whoosh  _ and  _ thunk _ of Diego throwing a knife in some instinctive burst of anger. 

“He insists that he’s sober, but I have no idea if I can believe him.” You looked around for a bench or some stairs. Your feet ached, your head ached, your  _ soul _ ached. You needed to sit down. 

“Where are you? I am coming over there right the fuck now and dealing with this.”

“No, Diego, please. I’m not at the apartment. I had to get out of there.” You understood why he felt protective, but it wasn’t what you needed right now. You needed everything to be okay, even though it wasn’t. Diego’s more aggressive tactics weren’t going to fix anything. 

“Well then, where are you?” He had started to sound worried. 

“I’m just walking. I left Klaus at my place. I don’t know if he’s still there or not.” You spotted a bench outside of a park just down the street and made a beeline for it. 

“Tell me the street. I can be there in four minutes and fifty-three seconds.” His determination was sweet. 

“Please don’t. I just- I need to figure this out.” You finally sat down, cross-legged because you honestly felt like curling into a ball right about now. Diego thought for a moment, ultimately deciding that it was better to let you talk to him than to intervene on your behalf.

“Fine. What makes you believe him?” This was something you and Diego did fairly often, your very own twisted pro and con lists, stacking up the evidence for Klaus versus the evidence against Klaus.

“Well, he didn’t try to stop me or make a grab for the dope when I left, he didn’t plead or beg, he just tried to get me to listen to him, which I now realize I utterly failed to do. And the bottle’s pretty full, so I doubt he could have had this for a whole week already. The label’s also from a while ago, but who knows if that actually means anything. And Diego, I have to believe he was being sincere when we talked. I have to.” Diego was silent for a while.

“And the evidence against him?” 

You took another deep breath. “The pills I found in his pocket, the fact that he’s had them this entire time, and- ohmygod, I just remembered something.” A memory flashed into your mind, feeding the sinking feeling that pervaded your senses. 

“What?” Diego’s tone betrayed his concern. 

“He hasn’t been acting shifty or running off without explanation. He’s barely been out of my sight this whole week, but after I picked him up, the second we got back to my place, he made some lame excuse about having to do something in another room or go to the bathroom. I just remembered it now. It’s the kind of shit he says when he’s getting high or stashing stuff.” It was true and only served to fuel the nervousness that made you want to scream. You sniffled, trying to ignore the passing glances of strangers. 

“When was this?” He still sounded sympathetic. 

“Right when we got home.”  _ When we got home _ . It’s funny what you say when you’re not thinking about it. Diego was silent for a long time. “Diego? Are you still there?”

“Talk to him.” He spoke finally. “See what he has to say for himself.” It was a surprise to hear Diego even remotely on Klaus’ side, but you were grateful. 

“Okay. Thank you.” You said your goodbyes. Diego reminded you that he could be anywhere in the city in under five minutes and told you to call him back later. You sat there for a few moments, alone, with just your phone in hand and endless thoughts in your mind. You felt wrong for having left Klaus to his own horrible devices while he was clearly falling to pieces, but simultaneously angry at him for doing this to you and for seemingly disregarding everything you had been trying to tell him for the past week. Above all, you just felt pain, and you knew Klaus was the reason why, even if he didn’t want to be. You got up and started to walk back. Passing a trash can by an intersection, you made a split-second decision to throw out the pills. 

Finally back at the apartment, you stopped before your front door, scared to open it. You took a deep, though shaky, breath to steady and brace yourself. You’d had versions of this conversation countless times, and you knew it was more than likely that you would again in the future. You assured yourself that even if he wasn’t sober, he would be okay. You just needed to stay with him, to let him know you were there, and hope it would be enough. You opened the door. 

Klaus was pacing circles around the room with a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers. A window was cracked open, which you knew was as far as it would go. The bag he brought back from the convenience store sat on the table with the contents, two boxes of cigarettes, dumped out next to an ashtray. One box lay open, and several cigarettes were missing. The open window was a nice touch. 

“y/n.” He noticed you immediately and stopped pacing. 

“Hey.” You smiled softly. “I’m sorry I walked out, I shouldn’t have.” 

Klaus hadn’t moved yet. He stood still, his eyes following you with restless longing. He finally reached down and snuffed out the cigarette, leaving the rest of it in the ashtray. 

“Did you call Diego?” he asked, trying to piece together why you left.

“Yes,” you responded. Klaus looked a little scared and started to reach for his coat, “but he told me to listen to you, which I’m going to do.”

“Oh! That’s a surprise!” Klaus looked pleased. He also looked much more contained than you’d ever seen him before, but the red eyes and disheveled hair told a different story. He sat down on the couch, and you sat beside him. 

“You had an explanation?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, fidgeting before working up the nerve to speak. “Well… a long while ago, which was not  _ that _ long ago, I may have- well, I did- hide some drugs here, in your apartment.” Your eyes widened, and he winced. “Specifically, behind a loose tile in the bathroom.” 

You knew where he was going with that, “The pills that were in your pocket.” 

“Bingo!” He flashed a small, somber smile. “This doesn’t paint me in the most flattering light, but I had no intention of staying sober when you picked me up last week. Then I… heard you. I felt like a real piece of shit.”

“Oh.” It was a lot to process. He was starting to fidget more, and you could see his eyes watering, threatening tears. 

“I am so sorry, y/n.” He was starting to break down. “But I didn’t take any, I swear!” 

“Why did you still have them?” You asked, earnestly trying to maintain composure. He ran his hands through his hair. 

“I couldn’t-” Klaus looked tortured. He was terrified you wouldn’t believe him. “I couldn’t bring myself to toss them.” It came out as a whisper. 

“Klaus…” 

“I know it was shitty, and Ben’s been harping at me to do it all week-”

“I threw them out,” you admitted, and watched for his reaction.

He breathed out a massive sigh of relief.

“ _ Oh, thank god _ .”

You put a hand to your mouth as you realized he was telling the truth. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” you choked, trying not to let your voice break. 

“Hey hey hey, no hard feelings!” He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, and you placed your head on his chest. “You’re here, that’s all that matters.” 

_ “She really cares about you, Klaus, maybe you should stop hurting her,” _ Ben said. Klaus glared at him, but the words did have an effect. 

“I’m really proud of you, Klaus,” you whispered. That seemed to give him the impetus he needed. You were confused for a moment as he pulled away from you, but then he tilted his head down and kissed you. You froze briefly, because this already felt different than the other times you had kissed. Then you accepted it, hanging your arms around his shoulders. He leaned in closer to you and placed a hand on your cheek, stroking softly back and forth with his thumb. You tried to deepen the kiss, running your hand through his soft curls, and he let you. He let you. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. This was love. Chaotic and confused and messy, but love. He pulled away, arms still around you as you stared past him in disbelief. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered breathlessly. You noticed, then, that one of his hands had wandered to your waist and, having hiked up your shirt slightly, was pressed against the small of your back. The warmth of his hand on your skin, the feeling of him touching you, was euphoric. 

“You felt something, too, right?” He asked in a dazed tone, somehow sounding both soft and desperate at the same time. You looked up at him, into his eyes, and found something reflected back at you that was remarkably familiar. It was a feeling. 

“Yes.” You almost laughed, almost cried. You felt like bursting. Leaning, almost lunging, forward, you kissed him once again, crashing and falling back into him. His lips on yours, your hands on him, his arms around you, his breath on your skin. You were intoxicated, you were engulfed, you were in love. 

You weren’t sure how, but when you finally looked up from each other to notice your surroundings, it was night. Holding onto one another, you made it across the dark and quiet apartment and found your way back to your bed together. You found yourself pulled into his embrace, and you also found yourself accepting it willingly. You were facing him, head resting on his arm and nestled against him. His chest was so close to you, so warm under your fingers. It was a familiar warmth to be close to him, the same smells, of eyeliner and cigarettes, the same steady sound of his breathing, the same sparks every time his skin brushed against yours. You couldn’t possibly dream of falling asleep now. 

“y/n?” he spoke in barely more than a whisper. 

“Hmm?” you hummed in response. 

“I’m sorry.” It was a small few words, but you knew how intently he meant it. Tilting your head up to find him just as wide-eyed and awake as you were, you knew that it was now or never. 

“You should know something, Klaus.” You looked away from him again, knowing that what you were about to say would be difficult. 

“What?” He began tracing small circles in your shoulder. 

You breathed, in and out, and began. “I didn’t want to think that you’d been numb all week, that everything you said had been a lie, that you cared that little. But even then, I couldn’t imagine not staying to help you, because I had to know that you would be okay because I-” You stopped, words caught in your throat. 

“Because you what?” He already knew what you were about to say. 

“Because I love you,” you admitted, heart pounding and thoughts raw with vulnerability. You felt a hand on your cheek, tilting your face upwards and tugging you back into the reality you had to face. You didn’t want to look up or see him until you felt his lips brush softly against yours. Your heart skipped a beat as he did it again, kissing you gently and earnestly. 

“I love you, too,” he mumbled into the kiss. Your heart flipped and soared. 

You pulled away for just a moment. “Say it again.” 

He did, immediately, with an easy smile, “I love you.” You began kissing again, and he whispered, “Your turn.” 

“I love you, Klaus.” You could feel him smiling as he tugged you closer. It was wonderful, it was perfect. 


End file.
